


This I Can Handle

by stileskolpath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Schmoop, Bottom Derek Hale, Derek Loves Stiles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, References to Knotting, Stiles Leaves, Stiles Loves Derek, Stiles doesn't know Derek is a werewolf, Stiles finds out, Werewolf Biology, Werewolf Derek Hale, Werewolf Kink, Werewolf Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stileskolpath/pseuds/stileskolpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stiles had to admit, there was something off about his boyfriend.</p>
<p>Derek was quiet, brooding, and built like a greek god. Seriously, Stiles questioned every dating choice he had ever made just by simply watching his shirt ride up his back, revealing a tract of flawless skin, pulled taut over ridges of muscle.</p>
<p>It made Stiles want."</p>
<p>aka that time when Stiles didn't know that Derek was a werewolf and was angsty about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This I Can Handle

Stiles had to admit, there was something off about his boyfriend.

Derek was quiet, brooding, and built like a greek god. Seriously, Stiles questioned every dating choice he had ever made just by simply watching his shirt ride up his back, revealing a tract of flawless skin, pulled taut over ridges of muscle.

It made Stiles want.

But every time he stepped into Derek’s space, to crowd him against the kitchen counter of his loft, or against the door of the camaro, or leaned in to kiss his neck, he got the feeling that Derek was pulling back, tense, like he was desperately trying to hold something back.

Stiles wanted to ask, but he just, couldn’t. Every time he opened his mouth, Derek seemed to withdraw, and kind of shut him out. At first, it wasn’t a problem. But as time went on, it frustrated Stiles more and more.

And then, at other times, usually once, maybe twice a month, Stiles would get angry, because it didn’t matter what he said or did, Derek wouldn’t let himself get anywhere even near him. They would fight, screaming at each other until Stiles stormed out the loft, slamming the steel door hard against the track. And each time, he would alway regret it. But he was stubborn, and so was Derek. So the usual result was that they wouldn’t speak for a few days.

These were the times that Stiles would get really frustrated. So during one of these occasions, on a random friday night when he had been hanging out with Scott, because playing Halo for six hours straight (and kicking his best friend’s ass) really got his courage up.

He sped through the preserve, taking the corners a little too fast in his jeep as the cool air rushed in through his windows. Stiles pulled the zipper of his hoodie up higher as he drove, in a vain attempt to keep out the blustery cold, which was not helped by his nerves.

Above him, the full moon lit up the highway with ghostly light. Stiles barely noticed it as he drove. He considered briefly about texting Derek to let him know he was on his way, but thought better of it. He wanted it to be a surprise of sorts. Usually they made up after one of these fights with a quick text or phone call and a meet-up. Stiles would drive over there after school, or leave his window unlocked one night, and they would talk and share a tentative kiss. But there was always that feeling. That feeling that nothing had really been resolved. So Stiles put the phone down. He wouldn’t tell Derek he was coming. It might be fun to see how Derek spent his time when Stiles wasn’t around.

He took the steps two-at-a-time and was breathless by the time he arrived at the door of the loft. He barely touched the door handle when he heard a muffled yell from inside.

“Go away, Stiles." Derek’s voice sounded heady, like he was growling each word through his lips, his normally high, clear voice deep and rumbling.

Stiles guffawed at the door. “How the hell did you know it was me?!” He yelled, more surprised than anything. Derek didn’t answer right away. Stiles was about to turn the door handle when Derek spoke again.

“I said, go away!” he barked. This time, he was closer, probably just inside the door, his words almost snarled, if that was at all possible, at Stiles. Who suddenly got a sinking feeling. Because if Derek didn’t want to see him this badly, something had to be wrong, right? What if he had decided to break up with him? Or was seeing somebody else? What if he had that person in there right now? Stiles’ heart slammed against his ribs, cold, suffocating anxiety radiating from it.

Stiles used all his concentration to keep his voice calm as he called through the door again. “Why don’t you want me to come in?” It took everything he had to not let it crack. Because he knew the answer.

Derek’s response took longer than expected. “I just… don’t. I’m kinda sick. I don’t want you to see me like this.” Then a pause. “Why didn’t you call first?”

Stiles’ rolled his eyes at the blatant lie. His hand was still on the handle. He could still turn it and bust in before Derek could stop him. “I- I wanted to surprise you, I guess.” He shrugged, his mind roiling with questions and anxious thoughts as he kicked at the concrete floor of the hallway absentmindedly. The words felt stupid coming from his mouth. The response he got was silence. It was almost confirming of all his fears. “Look, dude, whatever’s wrong, I’m sure I can handle it…” Stiles let the statement hang, feeling like he should add more, but also not at the same time.

“I really wish you would have called first…” Derek’s voice sounded almost sad. Stiles was certain he knew why, now. He let his hand slide from the handle as he stepped back from the door. He wanted to be angry. Really angry, actually, that Derek was cheating on him. But he knew, deep down, that it was probably going to end this way. He should have seen it before. They were polar opposites. Stiles was… you know, Stiles, all lanky and flailing and unable to keep his thoughts all in one place at one time, or inside his head at all. And Derek, Derek was gorgeous, the total package. Tall, dark, and handsome, with a penchant for leather jackets and brooding, quiet displays of affection that literally made Stiles’ heart skip a beat. He was usually silent and reserved, and Stiles knew he got on his nerves more often than anything else.

It was all too good to be true. Someone like Derek should never have been attracted to someone like him. It made sense, then, that there was someone else. Someone more on Derek’s level. And for as much as Stiles hated that thought, and the fact that it made him feel like he was going to be smothered where he stood, he knew that was the way it had to be. Tears welled up underneath his eyes as he stared at the stupid steel door between them. Now he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was on the other side.

When he finally answered Derek’s last statement, his voice barely faltered. In an odd, masochistic sort of way, he was kind of proud. “I’ll see you around, Derek. Whoever he is, he’s really really lucky.” Then he turned and walked quickly back down the hallway, not stopping to hear if Derek responded or not. He thought he heard one final questioning yell, the sound of Derek calling his name, but he pushed it out of his mind as he quickly descended the stairs, tears falling as he ran. But he did not cry, he didn’t let the sobs push past his throat. He would wait at least until he got to the jeep before he let any of this, whatever it was, out. He was almost at the bottom when he heard the door to the loft open, and heard the rush of footsteps come after him.

When he looked back up, expecting Derek to lean over the railing as he went after him. Instead, all he heard was his voice. The same throaty, rumbling one that had snarled at him from behind the door.

“Stiles, you there?” Stiles debated not answering and just heading back out to the jeep. But against his better judgment, he responded as he ran a knuckle underneath his eyes in a vain attempt to rub away pooling tears.

“Yeah. Look, Der-” Derek cut him off.

“Whatever you think is going on, I can assure you, it’s not…that.” Derek intoned, “I’m not cheating on you.”

“Then why wouldn’t you let me in? And don’t tell me you’re sick again. That was a pretty piss-poor lie.” Stiles sniffled involuntarily.

Derek’s voice caught at the sound. “Okay, fine, I’m not… sick, persay, but I have kind of a…condition.” Stiles didn’t get any hint that Derek was lying. Embarrassment floated to the surface as he tentatively turned to go back up. As he was about to plant a foot on the step, Derek added, “promise to keep an open mind?”

“Yeah, why?” Confusing spun through Stiles’ mind.

“Just- I’ll show you. You just have to promise.”

Stiles shrugged. If it wasn’t another dude, what could it be? Stiles had been in his apartment before, had seen the sparse furniture, the cold, concrete floors, the few, ancient-looking books. There wasn’t much space for anything that would be incriminating and/or embarrassing. And whatever Derek had, it couldn’t be that bad. While there were still things that they hadn’t done, Stiles was pretty sure that what parts of Derek he had seen were fairly normal and spectacular. He shrugged. “Fine, I promise.”

“Good.” He heard Derek’s footsteps retreat back down the hallway as he climbed back up.

When he walked to the door, he found it open. Stiles thought it was odd, so he closed it as he crossed the threshold. Derek was leaning up against the long, wooden table near the bank of windows that covered the entire far side of the loft. He was facing them, his back to the door. Stiles could tell that his arms were crossed in front of him, the way his back was slightly hunched, shoulders tense and drawn up slightly as he stared out the window.

Stiles took a quick scan of the room as he walked up to the table, on the off-chance that there was actually another person there. If there was, he was doing a great job of hiding. He was just about to sit down when Derek spoke.

“Stop.” Stiles flailed in the aborted attempt to sit down, nearly losing his balance and somehow, inexplicably, tripping while not walking anywhere.

“Wha- why?”

“Because, I’m going to show you something, and I don’t want you to get too close.”

Stiles righted himself, bracing his arms on the table across from where Derek was leaning. “Derek,” Stiles leveled, “I’m fairly certain that, whatever it is, I can handle it. Regardless of how close I am.” Something gave Derek pause as his whole body shifted with the weight of a sigh, before he turned around without another word, and Stiles’ breath hitched in his throat.

Derek’s usual, brooding countenance was gone. Staring back at Stiles were two glowing red eyes. His brow ridge had thickened, curled into a permanent snarl, arched deeply over his eyes, eyebrows completely gone. His nose had thickened, nostrils flaring and contracting with each breath. And on his chiseled, usually-stubbled jaw, long stripes of thick hair had sprung into being, extending down from his sideburns in front of pointed, almost lupine ears. Stiles felt himself oddly entranced. Even as he caught the pointed, long, canine fangs poking above the rest of Derek’s teeth, or the sharp, almost serrated-looking claws extending from his fingers. He edged around the table slowly, toward Derek, suddenly conscious of the glowing, red eyes fixed on him, following his movements carefully

“Stiles, what are you-” Derek didn’t get the rest of his sentence out as Stiles’ long fingers slid up underneath his jaw, before threading through the hair around his jaws lightly, quizzically, as if wondering how it appeared there so suddenly. A soft, almost appreciative sound rumbled out of Derek’s lips as his eyes slipped closed.

“So you’re a… what? Werewolf?” Derek nodded, leaning into Stiles’ hands almost involuntarily, his clawed hands reaching up to grasp at the human’s wrists. Stiles chuckled. Derek’s red eyes flicked open.

“What?”

“I was expecting you to be seeing somebody else,” Stiles admitted with a shrug. “ Which I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle. This is so much better than that. This,” he paused, “this I can handle.”

“Really?” Derek sounded genuinely surprised and more relieved than anything else. His deep, growling voice softened somehow. Stiles swallowed a little as he nodded, letting his fingers tangle in the swept-back hair on Derek’s cheeks as the pads of his thumbs began to trace the knotted, bony ridges over his eyes that left his face in a permanent snarl.

“Yeah. I mean, I have questions… Like, a lot of questions, but this…” his attention shifted to Derek’s ears, fingers running up the hardened cartilage, playing softly with the points as they flicked from the attention. “…This is so cool.” Derek huffed out a small exhale in what Stiles could only gather was a laugh.

“Stop it, that tickles.” Stiles couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculous sight of his werewolf boyfriend laughing through his fangs.

“Sorry. So, when did-”

“When I was born. Both my parents were-”

“Oh. Can you control it?” Stiles’ fingers were sliding back across Derek’s jawline as he spoke, running a thumb across his lips absentmindedly, his own pulse quickening in his ears.

“Mostly. If I let myself shift regularly, then yes. If not, sometimes it just… takes over.”

Stiles chuckled as his hands left Derek’s face, taking instead one of his claws and splaying the fingers out, running his own across the sharpened nails and roughly-padded skin. “What, like during full moons?” Stiles asked, his tone lacking any seriousness.

Derek gave him a sincere little shrug. “Mostly.”

Stiles looked up at him for a second, his eyes going wide with embarrassment. Was that offensive? Can you actually offend a werewolf? Shit. His mind backpedaled as his mouth tried to fix it, invariably making it worse. “Dude, I was joking. Sorry. I didn’t mean-”

Derek just laughed. “It’s okay, Stiles. But that’s why I didn’t want you to see me tonight. Full moon and all.”

Then the pieces began to fall into place. “So on those times each month when we would fight and we wouldn’t talk for a few days…” Derek nodded. Stiles wanted to say something, anything, to apologize, for what, he didn’t know. His mouth moved to form the words, but no sound would come out.

Derek seemed to know what he was trying to say. “I said it’s fine, Stiles.” The human sighed, and Derek changed the subject. “Just… No dog jokes, okay?” Now it was Stiles’ turn to laugh as the tension broke, and he continued to trace the edges of Derek’s claws with his fingers.

“Fine,” he drawled in an exaggerated sigh, “if you insist.” For a long, quiet moment, Stiles studied Derek’s hands, his face, his eyes, tracing and retracing the features he had only just been introduced to moments ago. “So can you, you know, do anything? Do you have special werewolf superpowers or anything?” Stiles asked, as Derek finally stopped his boyfriend’s hands’ constant movement across his skin with the gentle grip of his claws.

Derek shrugged lightly. “Eyesight, hearing, smell, those are the big ones.” He paused and considered it. “But those aren’t really powers, just extensions of the senses I already have.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles cocked his head to the side as he pulled himself up onto the table, using Derek’s claws to maneuver him into the space between his legs.

“Well I can see better in the dark, pick out details that I couldn’t before, hear things well outside of this loft or even the building, and smell, well, just about everything.”

“What do I smell like?” Stiles asked, a little too quickly. Derek leveled a ‘seriously?’ look at him before closing his eyes and inhaling sharply, as if he had never caught the scent before. He had, but Stiles didn’t know that. In truth it never really left his mind.

“Worn cotton, notebook paper, citrus… and cinnamon.” He paused. “It sounds weird, but everybody has a specific smell. Yours is usually a mingling of those scents in particular. Unless you’re happy, or sad, or angry, or something. Then it… shifts.”

“How so?”

Derek eyed him carefully. “Well, now, for instance, you are happy, or at least content. So your scent, that odd mixture of smells, it’s almost…good? Fresh, even. Like I want to keep breathing just to keep taking it in.” Stiles swallowed, because it was probably the sweetest thing he had ever heard. He tried to fight back the color slowly rising to his cheeks

“And before,” Stiles’ eyes flicked away from Derek’s quickly, “when I was upset?”

“I don’t know how to describe it, but I know don’t like it.” Derek shook his head as he called the memory to mind.

“So basically, you can kind of read my mind by, what, sniffing me?” Stiles asked, edge of playfulness creeping into his voice as he slipped his hands around Derek’s waist, drawing him slightly closer, deeper into the space between his legs.

“Sort of. With certain things. Like arousal. Or pain. Happiness, anger, sadness, you know, the usual bandwidth of emotions.” Derek shrugged, like he never really had to explain it before.

Stiles cocked an eyebrow. “Arousal, huh?” Derek scoffed.

“Yes. Which, by the way, is fucking impossible for me to miss, especially from you, anymore.”

Stiles smiled wryly. “Really?”

“Yeah. You smell like it constantly.”

“Even right now?” Stiles’ heart fluttered quickly in his chest, like a bird trying to break free.

Derek leaned in, his nose inches from the crook where Stiles’ neck met his shoulder, and drank deep. The exhale was a slow, and just broken enough to make Stiles’ throat flush with warm color.

“Especially right now. Even if you didn’t smell like it, your heartbeat would give it away.”

“Wait, my heart?” Stiles clutched at his chest. “You can hear it beating?”

“Well, yeah. It always gets a funny little stammer when you are turned on.” Derek’s smile was just slight enough to make Stiles want more.

“I’m glad my arrhythmia is amusing to you,” he deadpanned. He was slowly forgetting ever being upset in the first place.

“Well that’s not all. I can also tell when somebody is lying by listening to it.”

“I doubt that. I am an excellent liar,” Stiles reasoned. “I had to be. My dad is the sheriff. He can tell things like that.”

“We’ll see,” Derek replied, his red eyes flicking up to Stiles’ amber-brown ones. The night continued in a similar fashion, with Derek firmly entrenched in Stiles’ personal space, the human’s arms wrapped around his waist, hands toying with the hem of his shirt as they rubbed into the small of his back. Stiles’ questions were as endless as they were intriguing. Finally, they ended up sprawled out on Derek’s bed, with the werewolf’s head on Stiles’ chest as he started at the ceiling. It had been several long moments since Stiles had asked a question, and Derek had just spent quite a bit of time trying to explain the concept of anchors and shifting, and how certain things could prompt him to shift without him controlling it at all.

“So is that why we have, you know… waited?” Stiles asked the air, not able to bring himself to look Derek in the eyes to ask.

Derek sighed. “Yeah, I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to control it, and shift, you know, in the middle. Which would be bad enough if you had known. But if not…”

Stiles chuckled as he traced random circles into Derek’s scalp. “Yeah, I can see how that would be problematic.” They had gone quiet for a few minutes after that, silence marked by a combination of awkwardness and unasked questions. Stiles changed the subject as Derek turned his head toward his face. Stiles glanced down, his amber-brown eyes flicking back and forth between Derek’s red ones.

“I still can’t get over the eyes, man. They are just… wow.” Derek pushed himself up on the human’s chest, and put a little alpha into his glare.

If Stiles noticed, he didn’t say anything. “They don’t freak you out?” Derek asked.

Stiles smiled. “No, actually.” He sounded surprised, even to himself. “I actually think they’re kinda…hot.”

Derek’s non-eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “Really?”

“I have no idea why,” Stiles moaned, his face flushing red with heat. He shrugged. “I just do.” He dipped his eyes under the weight of Derek’s gaze. As long as he was talking about embarrassing things that turned him on, Stiles threw caution to the wind, before switching back to their earlier subject. “You know, if we were…uh, doing it, and you shifted, accidentally or whatever… I, uh, I wouldn’t have a ‘problem’ with it, or anything…” Derek inclined his head to meet Stiles’ avoidant gaze. He had a searching, almost interrogatory expression etched across his face, equal parts confusion and something close to fond affection.

“Really?” Derek sounded genuinely surprised. His wolf-form was still in full-swing, and given the fact that it was the first night of the full moon, would probably be that way until morning.

“Yeah, you know, if it happened,” Stiles shrugged against the sheets.

Derek leaned down, slowly, almost cautiously, to bring their mouths together. Stiles was surprised, for all its apparent toothiness, at how soft of a kiss it actually was. Derek’s lips were warm against his own, and as they brushed past one another, Stiles felt his hand slide up into the werewolf’s hair, giving the dark coat a light tug as his fingers threaded through it. A sharp inhale from Derek was enough to draw a quiet, meant-to-be-stifled moan from Stiles’ lips in reply, and he felt Derek sink deeper into the kiss, obviously enjoying the reaction. Stiles felt the werewolf’s tongue lick inside his own lips, setting his nerves ablaze and drawing out another moan, higher this time. His toes curled as the warm sensation of their mouths slotted together slowly flowed down his throat, into his lungs. With each breath, each beat of his heart, he could feel it begin to spread out into his limbs, which were gloriously useless as Derek’s mouth began to slide over the bony ridge of his jaw onto the soft, sensitive skin beneath it.

Derek’s canines nipped at the skin, just enough to pull at it, to leave endless tracts of small, angry-looking red marks, but never break it. He worried at the skin of Stiles’ neck, licking a stripe up the thick cords of muscle that bracketed his jugular in between sucking dark, sore bruises into the flesh.

Stiles’ lips were still bemoaning the lost contact of Derek’s mouth when the whispered question slipped from his lips.

“Derek?”

The response was muffled by his own skin as Derek mouthed it. “Yeah?”

“What would happen if you… uh, bit me?” Derek paused, just enough to make Stiles think that he had crossed some sort of line.

“Well,” Derek replied, as he pulled himself onto Stiles’ lap, and sat back, “one of two things.” He slid his claws underneath the hem of Stiles’ shirt, palms lightly sliding over the stretched, lean muscle of the human’s abdomen, before tracing the ridges of his ribcage and grazing his nipples Stiles moaned as the tips of Derek’s claws barely brushed over the skin, before rucking his shirt up as far as he could manage. “You would either turn, and become like me, or your body’d reject it.” Stiles swallowed, torn between wanting to know more, and not wanting Derek to stop touching him, ever.

“What happens if you reject the bite?” he asked, sounding a little too hopeful. Derek put his lips to a nipple, and Stiles gasped.

“Well, it can kill you.” His mouth began working its way across the lean muscle of Stiles’ chest to the other one, before tracing the fine strip of hair back down towards his navel.

“How often does that happen?”

Derek shrugged as he shirked off of Stiles’ lap, to begin working at undoing his jeans. He leaned down and licked the ridge of one hip-bone as he pulled it free, and Stiles felt all the nerves on that side of his body fire at once, prickling his flesh. “Not often. But it…” he got Stiles’ button and fly undone, and wrapped his fingers around the waistband before yanking them down with a predatory smile as Stiles’ cock flipped out from them, hard and leaking against his abdomen. “…it can,” he growled before tonguing its throbbing head teasingly. The attention eliciting a small, wrecked gasp from Stiles’ throat as he inclined his head to watch. Derek wrapped his lips around it, sliding down, almost to the base as Stiles keened in pleasure.

“Would you ever-” Stiles’ question was cut off as Derek repeated the movement, forcing him to throw his head back against the sheets. When he looked back, he was staring up into Derek’s blood-red eyes, pupils flicking back and forth between Stiles’.

“No. Never. Not unless I had no other choice, or you convinced me that you wanted it.” Stiles nodded quietly as Derek leaned down for another kiss and slid off the bed to divest himself of his clothes.

As he slid out of his jeans, exposing the thick, sinewy muscle of his legs, and his own hard, throbbing cock, already leaking with pre-come, Stiles couldn’t help but stare from where he was sprawled out on the bed, propped up on his elbows.

“You’re kind of perfect, you know that?”

Derek froze as he stripped off his shirt, the full extent of his god-like body on display for Stiles’ eyes alone. “You really think so, even like… this?” He waved a hand over his wolfed-out self.

Stiles nodded, a smile playing across his lips. Even in wolf-mode, Derek blushed, his eyes dropping to the ground. He fingered the fabric of his stripped-off shirt with his claws adorably as the blotchy red coloring spread all the way up to the tips of his ears. Stiles laughed.

“Especially like that.” He hopped off of the bed, and closed the distance between them, grinding their hips together as he crowded into Derek’s personal space. He tossed Derek’s shirt aside, and wrapped his arms around the werewolf’s back as he brought their lips together again. He flicked his tongue over the point’s of Derek’s canines as they kissed. The sharp, high whine that Derek had clearly meant to stifle curled the corners of Stiles’ lips into a big, stupid smile. Derek worried at his bottom lip, nipping lightly at the swollen skin, before Stiles felt himself being pushed back toward the bed, backs of his knees buckling as they made contact with the mattress. He landed sprawled out as Derek mounted him, straddling his cock. With a growl of his own, Stiles flipped Derek onto the sheets, and crashed their lips together again, a menagerie of sharp breathing, aborted heartbeats, and misfiring nerves ebbing and flowing as they made and broke contact with one another.

“Stiles?” Derek asked in between attacks from Stiles’ mouth. As if in response, the human made a low, questioning moan as his lips placed gentle, open-mouthed kisses over the hollow of Derek’s throat.

“You’re perfect too, you know.” The words were only a whisper, spoken through clenched fangs and swollen lips, but Stiles felt his heart skip an actual beat, because he couldn’t have just heard Derek correctly.

“What?”

“You’re perfect too. You said earlier that you thought I was, and… I just- I- you need to know that you are too.” Stiles blinked three times in succession as Derek spoke. “And I don’t want you to think, even for one second, that there is someone out there who is better for me than you.” His red eyes were soft with a knowing look, and Stiles knew that he was talking about what he had said in the hallway when he tried to leave.

Stiles’ voice cracked as he answered. “You… you really think so?”

Derek nodded, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips. He reached up and palmed Stiles’ cheek, the small gesture clenching the human’s heart against his ribs. Stiles leaned into it briefly, closing his eyes to the warm, comfortable sensation, before diving back into Derek’s mouth with his own. And this time, nothing was held back, there was no tension, no hurt, no misunderstanding. All of that had been laid bare.

And when Stiles pushed himself into Derek and settled deeper, slowly edging forward against his hips, his cock hard and thrumming against the warmth surrounding it, Stiles caught Derek’s red eyes as they tracked his movements, the slow, quiet thrusts of Stiles’ body against his, the quickening, irregular beat of his heart, the way his skin flushed and prickled at the graze of Derek’s fingers, or the tips of his claws.

He bottomed out, and Derek hissed, the tips of his fangs slipping out over his bottom lip. Before long, there was nothing quiet or slow about it. Derek was wrapped around him, holding them together his clawed hands, his back arched up into Stiles as the human fucked up into him with increasing intensity. His growls became snarls as they fucked, Stiles feeling every muscle he owned tighten as his orgasm began to build at the base of his pelvis. Derek snicked his eyes open, locking them onto Stiles’ as he felt the human’s cock twitch inside him with anticipation. He pulled Stiles’ lips down towards his own and slotted them together, and that was enough to push Stiles over the edge. With a loud, raw-throated and broken yell, Stiles came, the sound muffled and swallowed up by Derek’s mouth as they kissed. They didn’t pull apart as Derek began stroking his cock in the space between them, fucking up into the circle of his hand, the motion of his hips causing Stiles’ aftershocks to ripple through his nerves, synapses firing and misfiring as the blinding waves of overwrought pleasure flashed across them. Derek’s mouth froze for an instant against his own, and Stiles inhaled sharply as he sank into the kiss. He heard one small, muffled word escape Derek’s throat, nearly bitten-back, a timid, instinctive question laced into a growling moan.

“Yours?”

Stiles didn’t even know that he knew the answer, when his mouth sighed out the word.

“Mine.” And with a sharp intake of breath, Derek bit down on Stiles’ bottom lip and came, mess of his come spraying across the space between them, covering his chest with the sticky, white liquid as he keened in a high, wrecked, decidedly human moan.

As everything between them relaxed, tension bleeding out of every muscle, Stiles couldn’t remember a time that everything felt so right. He let himself sort of settle on top of Derek, his nose buried in the crook of his neck, the only sounds of the sweet, quiet moment were the only sounds were the muffled, stuttering beats of Derek’s heart, more a feeling than a noise, and the short, jagged breaths they shared and were slowly recovering from. So logically, his mouth decided to ruin it with its inevitable word-vomit.

“So does ‘no dog jokes’ cover all genres of bestiality-related humor?” Derek leveled a glare at him. Apparently it did.

“What about knotting, can I talk about knotting?” Derek hid his face in his hands and groaned, clearly regretting the decision he had made hours earlier, along with every other one in his life that related to Stiles.

“Stiles?” He growled, the name more a warning than a question.

“What? I said I had a lot of questions.” Stiles shrugged against him, a quiet laugh slipping from his lips.

"Shut up."

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this particular prompt came in the form of a tumblr post (that I cannot find anywhere and was written much better than this) wherein Derek tells Stiles that he is a werewolf for the first time. It was a weird write, I have to admit. Because it starts off a little angsty, then gets happy, then porny. 
> 
> And sorry I haven’t written something this long in a little while. Life, this semester, is actively trying to kill me. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading!
> 
> Much love, as always,
> 
> -Stiles Kolpath
> 
> P.S. feel free to check out my blog at watchthewolvesrun.tumblr.com! (it's literally busting at the seams with Sterek stuff). Also, I try my hardest to edit my work, but if you catch a typo, or something sounds a little wonky, let me know)


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